Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Arching one’s back, Lily found, did little to stifle an ache when jostling along rough roads in a farmer’s cart. She brooded in solitude on the back of Farmer Justice’s wagon, legs dangling, her back to Glenaire who appropriated the rough bench up front. She added that to her list of grievances.
Chadbourn Park, they had been told, was not far “’f you take th’road that avoids th’village and up the back lane.” An hour had passed during which Lily had plenty of time to nurse those grievances.
I will not tie myself to that insufferable boor even if he begs.
A vision of Glenaire begging brightened her spirits considerably. It did not, however, change her views. While she blamed only herself for succumbing to his advances—to her own turbulent passions, if she were honest—his insulting offer stuck in her craw.
This episode may bring disaster down on my head, but he’s a fool if he thinks he can order my life. I will manage the thing myself no matter what he says.
The wagon bumped around a rutted turn and slowed. The outbuildings of Chadbourn Park emerged beyond the fields. People bustled about their business; a groom led a horse past. He looked at them with little curiosity.
We must look like the village beggars.
Glenaire jumped down and came round to help Lily. The farmer saluted them and went on his way with shouted greetings to acquaintances as he went.
“We’re too late to sneak in unnoticed,” she lamented.
“By servants perhaps, but I will not have the family see us in this state, nor my staff,” he said.
Before she could object, he pulled her into the stone building that served as the earl’s stables. When she could make out only one worker in the gloom at the far end, she seized what little privacy they had.
“Let me clarify this before we go any further,” she hissed. “I will not marry you.”
Richard opened his mouth to speak; she held up a hand to quiet him.
“The guests are gone. Your staff is discreet. The earl and countess will accept any story we tell them. Sahin Pasha took our horses. We immediately set out for the Park. We got lost. Period.”
Glenaire listened, intent.
“Nothing. Else. Happened,” she ground out.
“You could be a duchess one day,” he retorted through clenched teeth.
“What makes you think I want that?” she demanded. “Not all of us live to be fawned over.”
He gave her what she had come to think of as his “Lord of heaven and earth” expression, chin high, eyes sharp.
“You could be increasing,” he said in clipped tones.
Heat crept up Lily’s neck. Pregnant? Pray God, no.
“It won’t matter,” she lied. “In that event, I will manage the thing. You needn’t concern yourself.”
“I beg to disagree. In that unfortunate event, we will ‘manage the thing’ together. Do you understand me?”
The full force of his authoritative stance hit Lily in a wave, but she stood her ground.
“Perhaps. For now, however—”
“Richard, what on earth? You look like you’ve been dragged through the pig sty backward!”
“Sheep,” Glenaire growled, his eyes on Lily.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Just as bad,” Will chuckled. The “worker” had materialized as a very amused Earl of Chadbourn. “You’ve done interesting things with that shirt,” he said.
Lily tried not to think about where the shirt had been.
“No one would believe this if I told them,” the earl persisted. “Glenaire, the Marble Marquess, has straw in his hair and mud on his face.”
“You will tell no one,” Glenaire said in quelling tones.
Will bit his lip, suppressing laughter, but sobered quickly. “We were worried when you didn’t come back,” he said while he surveyed Lily with open curiosity. “Stewart sent men to search. Is there a story here? I hope it’s a good one.”
Glenaire repeated the story Lily suggested with few words.
“You’ve been walking all night?”
“Until we found the Justice farm, yes,” Richard said. His haughty expression brooked no contradiction. “We will, of course, want to hide the fact that we were gone all night if possible.”
Will looked at Lily kindly and nodded.
“We need to get Miss Thornton into the house, seen by as few eyes as possible,” Richard went on. “And into the care of your countess.” He no longer called her Lily.
“Give me a moment. I’ll find work for my people and clear out a path,” the earl said. He left them alone.
Richard started to speak, and again Lily stopped him. “You will bring my father home,” she demanded.
“I have already arranged it, as you know. I’ll have Volkov watched. You needn’t fear him,” he responded.
“There will be no marriage,” she repeated. “I will not have it.”
“Very well, Miss Thornton. Let it be on your head, but you will tell me if there is a child. You have no choice. My child will not be born outside of marriage.”
There are always choices, Lord High and Mighty. Not always good ones, but choices nonetheless. Most men would accept my decision with relief.
“I could dine out on that story, you coming in looking like a bedraggled sheep-boy,” Will hadn’t stopped laughing at him all day. It had become one more thing to hold against Miss Lilias Thornton; she had made him a laughing stock.
Richard sat—bathed, groomed, trussed in a pristine suit—and sipped the earl’s fine whisky. His hair had been cleaned. His nails had been filed. His clothes had been burned. A hefty bonus calmed his valet and removed all trace of the horrid night.
Not all so horrid. He shook the traitorous thought away.
“My couriers will reach London quickly, but I suspect Sahin Pasha sent his ahead on Mercury. They will be at sea to Thessaloniki by nightfall or tomorrow at the latest, tide and wind permitting. I am sorry about Mercury.”
“We don’t know that he’s gone for good,” Will pointed out. “I have hope Sahin will recall himself enough to return my property.”
“Perhaps. He has other priorities.” Richard tried to keep the conversation on the diplomatic mess, not his night on the road. “They’ll kill the agent, of course, and possibly unleash more unrest. Russia may find the need to avenge their man.”
“Or they may take care of Volkov for going rogue,” Will suggested.
“Perhaps. It depends on how successful it turns out for them. In chaos they win either way.”
“Catherine pronounced Miss Thornton fit. No harm came to her as a result of your misadventure,” Will put in abruptly, searching Richard’s face.
Richard broke eye contact and made his face a mask of indifference.
“Most of society would consider her compromised,” Will ground on.
Indifference fled. “I consider her compromised. I made an honorable offer. She refused.”
Will did not hide his astonishment, although Richard couldn’t be sure if the offer or the refusal surprised the earl more.
For a moment Richard feared his friend would ask awkward questions. He glared until the earl looked away and changed the subject.
“Catherine quite likes the woman,” he said. “She believes there will be little talk and any that arises easily squelched by the Countess of Chadbourn and the sister of the Marquess of Glenaire.”
“Georgiana?” Richard asked, “I shouldn’t be surprised. My sister has become the advocate of self-willed women everywhere.”
“She gets no help from your mother, however,” Will grimaced.
Richard’s sister Georgiana and her husband, who were estranged from his parents, kept a house in London in addition to their home in Cambridge. Their salon had a wide list of devotees among the more intellectual set. The duchess preferred to think they did not exist.
Richard sipped his drink in silence. His mother’s well-known prejudices did not require comment.
“I thought you would want to know. About Miss Thornton,” Will said, watching him.
“We will, of course, arrange travel for the woman, but Miss Thornton is her own concern,” Richard replied. He ought to feel relieved; it annoyed him that he didn’t. “She will do what she pleases in any case,” he said. She’ll try. We will watch her while she does it.